The exiles never felt so destitute before; not a sou could be found in
the Colony. But the little hunchback stepped up with the cross, and gave
it to the chief _fossoyeur_, dropping a franc into his hand; each of the
women added some sous, and the younger one quietly tied a small round
token of brass to the wood, which she kissed thrice; it bore these
words:
"_A mon ami._"
"A little more than kin and less than kind!" whispered Andy Plade, who
knew what such souvenirs meant, in Paris.
The Colony went away disconsolate; but the little hunchback stopped on
the margin, and looked once more into the pit where the box was fast
disappearing.
"Pardon our debts, _bon Dieu!_" he said, "as we pardon our debtors."
Shall we who have followed this funeral be kind to the stranger that is
within our gates? The quiet old gentleman standing so gravely over the
_fosse commune_ might have attracted more regard from the angels than
that Iron Duke who once looked down upon the sarcophagus of his enemy in
the Hotel des Invalides.
And so Lees was at rest--the master's only son, the heir to lands and
houses, and servants, and hopes. He had escaped the bullet, but also
that honor which a soldier's death conferred--and thus, abroad and
neglected, had existed awhile upon the charity of strangers, to expire
of his own wickedness, and accept, as a boon, this place among the bones
of the wretched.
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